


So Nice to Meet You (Now I’ll Leave You)

by Expectopatronum28



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, Love songs, M/M, Reality Bending, World Sharing, broken home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Expectopatronum28/pseuds/Expectopatronum28
Summary: Claude’s eyes shift to the side; they’re suddenly glazed with a layer of fresh tears. He digs the ridges of his nails into Sid’s skin. “I don’t wanna fuck with your head, Sid.”





	So Nice to Meet You (Now I’ll Leave You)

________

_Eleven_

Sid glides across the ice in his brand new skates – a Christmas present from dad; the fresh blades gleamed underneath the patch of dying sunlight.

Sid loved the outdoors, loved the smell of ice – loved the cold.

He races back and forth across the frozen pond by his lonesome, a wooden stick gripped firmly between his small but able hands. Powdery lines marked the sheet of ice in his furious wake. There’s little finesse, but that’s okay – he doesn’t need skill. He just needs to be here.

The apple of his cheeks flushed red as he chased the puck – his smile an absolute sunbeam.  

This was his livelihood.

As he curves back around the opposite end, he sees something – a flash, a mess of colours – _orange._ It only lasts a second, then it’s gone. _Just like last time._

Sid does a snowplough stop, a hair’s breadth from falling flat on his face. His skates scrape against the frost, blades digging into the ice. He whips his head around, startled – then back again. He unbuckles the strap of his helmet, tilting it back.

There’s nothing, _no one._

He blinks feverishly against the crisp winter breeze. It’s like icicles pinching his eyes. He squeezes them shut.

A familiar voice filters through the hollow of his ears, his mom’s; she’s calling him for dinner.

Sid carefully unlaces his skates, sliding them off before he enters the house. His feet feel bruised inside his thick tube socks. His jersey’s stained with sweat.

The warm air greets him, stuffy and thick.

His mom tends the stove. Taylor idles at her feet, fussing over a handful of Barbie dolls, in various stages of care. Sid strides towards the kitchenette, patting his sister’s head on the way. He watches the hot dogs swell and bob in the boiling water. Sid plucks the fork from his mom’s fingers, leaning over the spitting pot to stir them. He stabs at one of the wieners.

“Sid, honey, get the buns and the soda” Trina tells him.

“Can I play s’more after dinner?” Sid asks. His smile is hopeful, buck teeth slipping past the seam of his lips.

Trina sighs, cupping his cheek and shaking her head. “Sure. We’ll wait for your dad.”

_____

 

 

 

 

Sid stares out the window. Snow falls in thick flakes; a white blanket covers the stretch of grey road outside the school. The skies were a canvas of _pure white;_ the bare trees stood still, their crevices packed with snow.

Sid wanted to go outside, wanted to dive head first into the snowbank folded in the shadows.

His eyes fall back to the piece of paper on his desk. He dates it – _January 12_ , in scratchy cursive. He rests his chin in the cup of his hand. His gaze edges towards the fresh snow again.

His face stretches into a grin, wide and open, cogs turning in his head. Him and Flower and Tanger could have a _snowball fight!_ Sid had taken too many to the face last time. Flower‘s snowballs were solid ice to the skin, compacted beyond reason. Sid could barely retaliate, pink-faced and out of breath, with icy water trailing down his neck. Tanger was a lousy shot. No arm, all huff and puff.

They could all go back to his house afterwards. Mom could make a pot of hot chocolate and –

_But you said, on my birthday she‘d –_

Sid’s gaze snaps from the window.

_Stop lookin‘ for that lying, boozing, whoring –_

 “Everything alright, Sidney?”

Sid blinked hard. A stream of speech he couldn‘t decipher – _another language_ – filled his head. The words curt and harsh and garbled.

Sid shook his head and swallowed thickly. He peered around – then up. Ms. Mag surveyed him from her desk, thick frames perched at the base of her sharp nose; her eyebrows arched in concern.

“M’fine” Sid answers, nodding his head.

The classroom was silent, save for the sound of pencils scribbling on sheets of paper. The clock ticked above the dusty chalkboard. The voices stopped.

Unease squeezed at Sid‘s chest. His imagination was running wild again.

_____

 

 

 

 

He’s skating in circles – he’s got fifteen minutes. The sky’s dark. The stars are tiny pinholes of light. Sid sighs, idly tossing the rubber puck in his gloved hands. He’s about to leave when he hears it, a wisp of a sound – _an exhale._

He turns, legs rooted.

There stands a stark figure beneath the open, moonlit sky; it’s small, no bigger than him – _a boy._ He’s facing away from Sid, head tilted toward the night sky. Oblivious.

Sid swallows hard. He could feel his heart beat in his ears. “H-hello?”

The boy turns and the first thing Sid thinks is _orange._ His hair.

Bangs sweep his forehead, pulled low; his face is pale and soft. His eyes are dark.

He _beams_ at Sid. “Hi.”

He’s wearing a black, oversized jacket. It’s past his knees. He’s drowning in it. His nimble fingers are just visible between the wide sleeves. A white shirt billows beneath. “You’re real fast.”

Sid opens his mouth then snaps it shut. “I – Thanks” he stammers.

The boy shivers, looking back up at the charcoal sky. “W-Where are we?”

Sid’s gaze lands on the stretch of his neck. There’s a mark on his throat, some sort of discoloration – purplish-blue. “In my backyard.”

He looks back at Sid then, just for a moment. His eyes fall between their feet. His sneakers are dull and worn. He bends low, picking up Sid’s aluminum hockey stick.

Sid takes a step forward, eyes darting. His fingers itch. The boy looks up at him, sensing Sid’s anxiety. He stretches his own arm to meet Sid’s, gently placing the stick in his now open palm. Sid grips it tight

Shame pools low in his gut.

“My dad got it for me” he says in a quick rush.

The boy’s brows knit in confusion. “Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

He looks at Sid like he’s just seeing him now; a glint of brown catches in his big dark eyes. “What’s he like?”

A tender smile curved Sid’s lips. His dad was a genius. He could fix or build anything.

He taught Sid how to skate, how to ride a bike, how to hit a perfect pitch – _everything_. His dad was, well – his hero.

“He’s my best friend.”

The boy smiles, but it’s unlike Sid’s; it stops at the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes, not quite.

“Sidney! Time for bed!”

Sid whips his head around – “’Kay dad!” he shouts back. A chilly draft bit at the skin of his neck as he turned back around, but there’s no one – the space disconcertingly empty, just the rustle of trees beneath the dark horizon.

______

 

 

 

 

 

_Fourteen_

 

 

“Hi.”

Sid looked up from his lunch but didn’t answer.

Sid was seeing him again _._

_Claude._

And the thing was – he only existed to Sid. _No one else._

Sid would catch sight of him, in and from his peripherals; tresses of orange and chestnut eyes that would vanish before he could blink. In the mirror. On the street. At the rink. And moments like this – when he lingered.

He was older – just like Sid.

He hasn’t told anyone but Flower, who was sensibly concerned for Sid’s wellbeing: “What if it’s like that movie – you know, where Brad Pitt’s a tumour in the guy’s head?”

Sid felt like his insides were coiling in on themselves. _A tumour?_ _Cancer?_ Maybe he needed to get his head checked. See a doctor – or a _psychiatrist._ What if they locked him up in a lunatic asylum? Did they exist? One of those places where patients either had minds like old television sets, with only one dial and white noise, _or the other kind_ – brains fogged with intricate delusions. Blaring and binding and _insane._

Before he spiralled, head on, into full-fledged panic, Flower intervened.

“I guess if he’s not trying to hurt you or fuck with you, it’s – _okay_ ” he had said, half-jokingly, cupping Sid’s shoulders tight.

It wasn’t exactly comforting, but at least Flower had believed him.

And well – here he was again, across the picnic table from Sid, appearing out of thin air. And he would eventually disappear— _simply disappear_ , not a shadow in sight—into that same thin air.

It made Sid’s head hurt.

Under the bright spring sun, Sid could make out the tiny freckles on his cheeks. A scar was visible just under the curve of his right eye. Sid doesn’t remember it being there last time.

His auburn curls are tucked beneath a black bandana. His dimples on full display.

“Debate meeting?” he asks, jutting his chin out at Sid’s scattered cue cards.

Sid nods, tongue-tied.

Claude laughs and reaches across the table. The sleeve of his grey hoodie extends past his thin wrists. The bottom of a snack-sized bag of potato chips is clutched in his palm. His kind eyes molten gold. “Have some.”

The sticky raspberry jelly of Sid’s PB & J dripped over his fingers. That uncomfortable feeling spread over him again. It was Claude – chipping away at his heart.

He wanted to reach out and grab Claude’s hand and hold it tight in his own. _Is this real?_  he wanted to ask, desperate and confused. _Or is my brain just swelling inside my skull?_

Sid reached over and dug his free hand into the bag instead. The chips were crisp and salty; the sun shone right through them. Just like Claude.

With a gentle prod of his fingers, he tilts Sid’s chin up, “Hey – you’re gonna do great, Sid.”

______

_Sixteen_

Sid’s head hits the pillow, a headache building at the bridge of his nose and between his eyes. It’s spreading to his temples. Out his window, the rain came slowly and doggedly down. Like it couldn’t be bothered.

It had been such a long day.

Sid’s eyes fall shut. Just for a minute – just before something on the edge of hearing hummed in the back of his throbbing head. The intensity grew, morphing into the pulse of music. A gravelly tone soothed his sleeping form. He must be dreaming.

_Baby you’re all that I want_

_When you’re lying here in my arms_

His eyes flap open, eyebrows shooting up. What –

_Love is all that I need_

He sits up, bunching the flannel sheets in his quivering palms. What, how – “Hello?”

_And I found it there in your heart_

He crawls off the bed, pupils dilating in the dark. The music grew, rushing in and around him, like waves filling holes in beach sand. Sid closed his eyes and tried to zero in on its direction.

His bare feet meet the wool carpet, footsteps muffled as he pads across the room. He reaches for the door.

The rain outside had halted.

Sid grips the knob with a clammy hand, knuckles whitening. He ignores the pounding in his heart that says: turn back. He sucks in a breath and swings the door open –

The dark hallway leading to the kitchenette greets him at the other end – quiet, vacant. The house is sound asleep.

Sid rubs a hand over his scrunched face, chest heaving – what did he expect?

Snippets of the melody still reverberate in his head, now indistinct.

He turns within the door’s frame and without warning, Sid’s surroundings shift –

He feels dizzy; he stumbles backwards, and –

_It’s Claude._

He sits with his back to Sid at a small, wooden desk.

Sid’s eyes rove over the space swimming into view. It’s small. The walls are cool grey and _bare_ , save for a few pencil sketches tacked on. The floor is cold and gritty beneath Sid’s tingling feet. A narrow bed is stationed in the corner, a lump of blankets atop it. There’s a faint glow emanating from Claude’s lamp, feeble at best; its heavy base is perched on the sill of Claude’s open window. The heavy curtains are parted, revealing a pale and quiet moon.

_He’s – in Claude’s bedroom._

Sid creeps closer to him. A set of white buds are tucked into his ears, the thin wires plugged into a walkmen. Sid watches as he strokes his pencil back and forth, effortless. Sid peers over his shoulder. The sketch before him is filled with grey and blue and black, all mixed together – like some sort of confusing storm.

Sid reaches out, placing a tentative hand on Claude’s shoulder – slowly, carefully. “C-Claude?”

Claude jumps out of this rickety chair, yanking his earbuds out.

Sid freezes, feet glued to the floor.

He stares at Sid – taking him in – with his lips slightly parted. Sid struggles to hold himself in place as they gawk at each other.

Claude blinks, face relaxing. _His eyes crinkle_. His smile flashes in the gathering dark as his eyebrows lift. “Sid” he breathes, placing a steadying hand on the flat surface of his desk.

Sid’s heart hammered. “Hi.”

He’s just about to reach out – to touch him again when the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps fill his ears. They’re ascending – a staircase.

Sid turns to face the door with bated breath. It creaks open.

There stands an angry-eyed stranger. He’s tall. Gaunt eyes settled into their sockets; he’s got a large bottle by the neck. Sid watches the clear liquid inside slosh back and forth as it dangles in his loose grip. It could have been water but it wasn’t.

The man treads across the room.

The scene before him beats like a pulse.

His senses are mauled by an acrid stench, like day old hate. He looks back to Claude and – his breath stutters in his lungs: Claude’s eyes are scared, wide, _wet_ – staring right back at Sid.

“You – you should go, Sid” he says. The words are soft and pleading.

“No” Sid chokes out. He looks back at the man inching closer to Claude. “W-What’s going on?”

The words are just past his trembling lips before his surroundings begin to fragment. Sid blinks. Faintness plagues him once more as he loses his balance. He comes to – in his own house, standing underneath the frame of his open door.

Alone.

He pushes the palm of his left hand into the doorframe – _hard_.  Blood rushes out as wooden splinters dig into the pale skin.

His eyes prickle. “Claude.”

There’s no response.

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sid hasn’t seen him, not for a while.

He sits with his back to the wall, ears bound by bulky headphones. They’re starting to feel numb.

His science textbook’s spread before him, split in half. The edges are wrinkled and chewed from the sloppy rain. There’s a cross-section of an animal cell on the page. It looks like a mound of Jell-O.

The sunny colours and shapes begin to meld. He zones out, his eyelids droop.

He feels a hand grip the ball of his shoulder; his eyes spring open. It’s his dad.

He slips his headphones off and tilts his head up. “Hey.”

Troy lowers himself to the ground in a crouch before him. His short hair’s flecked with grey.  There are creases – around his eyelids, his nose, his mouth – his life etched on his skin. Every bit of it earned.

He picks up the worn textbook and raises one eyebrow slightly, inspecting the weird, Jell-O looking thing. “I don’t know about you, but this looks like a pretty good snack.”

Sid snorts.

Troy puts the book aside and clasps his hands together. A beat of silence passes. “Do you remember when your sister was born, how she used to cry so much?”

Sid meets his eyes. “Yeah.”  He remembers. It comes back to him like an old movie reel.

Taylor stirred and spluttered often. Sid was okay with it – at first. When the crying escalated, Sid got frantic. He would shout _“Tay cry-ing!”_ over and over again, with increasing urgency – until he eventually started crying himself. Troy ended up having to calm both of them down.

Sid pulls back from the memory.

His dad’s face sits frozen. A deep frown’s stretched across his mouth, his eyebrows curved downwards. “You’re a good boy, Sidney.”

Sid felt his throat constrict. _Why was he telling him this?_

Sid watches Troy’s hands clasp and unclasp.  “Everything going fine? At school and with your friends?” he asks. He tries to sound casual but Sid knows he’s concerned.

Sid’s gaze falls to his own open palms. “Everything’s great, dad.”

Troy pauses. “You can always talk to me, you know. I’m here.”

“I know” Sid sighs. “But – really, everything’s fine.” He presses a set of blunt fingernails into his palm. “I promise.”

Troy nods, it’s slow and hesitant. He skims a hand through Sid’s tousled hair. “Okay.”

He unbends his knees. They crack as he stands upright. Sid winces.

“Dinner’s in an hour, sport.”

And well – Sid’s appetite’s been like ash on the floor. Food got stuck on the way down, four or five bites and he’s done.

“Thanks, dad.”

Sid watches him retreat. When he turns his way to smile, a gesture meant to reassure, he gives away the worry he means to mask in its place.

Sid’s fingers curl around his headphones; they’re slack around his neck.

Bryan Adams blares once more.

 

 

He thinks of Claude.

______

_Seventeen_

 

 

 

Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter ensued. Sid couldn’t make out any words, but laughter rang in his ears – joyful and infinite. His eyelids fluttered closed as he breathed in the briny aroma. He scrunches his toes, feeling the softness of the sand – a little damp from the retreating tide.

He needed to find his shoes.

Flower sneaks up behind him at some point and hollers; it ripples through his ears like rocks tossed into still water. Sid jumps, kicking the sand. “Jesus!”

Flower bursts into a loud and harsh cackle of laughter. “Whoop! Whoop!” he went, and doubled over. The flag draped across his back is now torn and muddy.

“You’re fucking drunk” Sid says, steadying him.

It was the first of July. The celebration was a riot of colour – _red._ Stars filled the night sky. Crowds filled the sandy shores beneath them. The bonfire was as large as a house, sparks flying well above the treetops. Dark plumes of smoke disappeared into the night.  

Sid felt happy.

Flower cups Sid’s broad shoulders, facing him. The paint on his face is faded and smudged. His expression’s hazy. “I’m good.”

Sid chuckles. “Sure, buddy.”

Just then Tanger approaches, water bottle in hand. He looks itchy and irritable. He twists the cap and thrusts it at Flower. “Drink up.”

Flower takes the bottle and immediately chugs it. His adam's apple bobbed with each gulp as water drizzled from both sides of his thin lips. Tanger shook his head. “I’m taking him home.”

Sid nods. “Just let me get my shoes.”

“Nah, I got this” Tanger says, waving him off. “I’ll be back for the fireworks.” He wraps a strong arm around Flower’s back and steers him out of sight.

Sid begins to shoulder through the swarm of bodies and cacophony of sound, looking for his abandoned flip flops. The smiles of buzzed strangers greet him at every turn, stretching the length of the beach.

Soon enough, the crowd begins to gather as fiery sparks begin to light up the sky.

Sid looks up.

Vivid flares of red and gold and acid green soar into the sky, igniting it in a loud burst. Cutting through the black and culminating in brilliant, flower-like patterns. Boom. Boom. Boom.

A swift breeze passes, prickling the nape of his neck. Sid suddenly felt strange. Felt the fireworks vibrating within him somehow. Voices babbled on, happily – only now they seemed distant. He tears his eyes from the sky and glances over his shoulder and, and – _Oh._

A pair of brown, burning eyes greet him. Warm and open.

Claude.

Sid turns to him, blinking furiously in the dark. The muscles of his chin trembled.

Claude’s chestnut waves whip in the wind. “Hi” he says softly.

Sid’s heart raced at the sound of his voice, familiar and easy. His legs felt like they were no longer his; they began to tremble, the same way they did in deep winter cold.

And – he _laughs_. It’s watery and shaky. It’s brimful of joy.

Sid reaches for him, throat dry. He cradles Claude’s face between his curved palms and pulls Claude’s body flush against his own. _He’s okay._

He feels the flat of Claude’s hand against his back. It slides up, gently cupping the back of his neck. Claude leans in, so his forehead rests against Sid’s. “Cheri, what’s wrong?” he whispers against Sid’s lips, brows furrowed.

Sid whimpers, closing the distance between them – pressing his mouth firmly to Claude’s.

The world falls away.

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sid’s toes curl against the tiled bathroom floor; he’s enveloped in the warmth of Claude’s chest and arms as Claude jerks him – _hard and fast._

The back of Sid’s head lolls against Claude’s shoulder, with Claude’s teeth nipping at his neck. He angles Sid’s face towards his own; his heated gaze sets Sid ablaze.

Claude jams his tongue inside Sid’s parted mouth, _thrusting_ it in and out. Filthy and overwhelming.

Claude’s veins ran like connected rivers across his pale forearms – raised and thick and dark. He flicks his wrist as he strokes upward, caressing Sid’s sensitive slit with the tip of his thumb.

Sid’s mind and body and _heart_ are ready to erupt.

He cants his hips into the tight circle of Claude’s fingers, cries into Claude’s wet mouth, and clutches his hand – _until he passes out,_ boneless in Claude’s arms.

_____

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Please stay” he blurts out. The words sound punched out and – _broken._

Claude’s just split his bag of apple slices between them, the flesh of them already brown. His crestfallen face meets Sid’s.

The plants around them were wilting; the grey, scraggy clouds were rolling in.

Sid felt so hollow – it deadened his mind.

 

 

 

______

 

_Twenty-two_

 

 

 

“Get your legs out from under you. I wanna see you.”

Claude whines. “ _Sid_.”

Sid bites his chin. “Come on.”

Claude hovers above him, legs folded on either side of Sid’s thick thighs – more than halfway down his hard length.

“So fuckin’ pushy.”

A hoarse cry and a litany of curses follow, _tearing_ themselves from Claude’s throat as he opens himself up to the _depths_ of Sid.

Sid _melts,_ fully sheathed in Claude’s warmth. His body slumps and his head dips, thudding against the strut of Claude’s collarbone; like a puppet with its strings slashed.

Claude presses a hand to Sid’s chest and hooks an arm around his neck as he lifts himself to free his wobbly legs. Claude sighs with his bottom lip jutted out, redirecting the air flow to his wild mane.

He slowly draws his knees up and plants a foot on either side of Sid’s waist, ass flush against Sid’s pelvis. Claude’s walls are squeezing him so tight. Sid trembles with it. _It’s perfect._

Claude’s eyes finally meet Sid’s; they glow – rich as the earth’s soil. His loose curls cascade around his face as he pants, skin tinged with a faint red flush.

“Fuck, Sid – I’m flayed open.”

Sid brushes his lips against Claude’s. “M’sorry.”

“You should be” Claude breathes, reaching out to rake his fingers through Sid’s coiffured hair.  “Your dick is as big as your ass.”

Sid hums, curving his hands underneath Claude’s bony knees, gently squeezing the soft skin. He smiles dopily at Claude. “Chicken legs” he teases. Then, “Come on, get ‘em around me.”

Claude obliges, wrapping his long, slender legs around Sid’s muscled back in a tight criss-cross, like the layered petals of a lotus. Sid’s the core, bound by the scent of Claude, the feel of him, the sound of him – _little gasps timed to Sid’s body_. He’s everywhere.

He’s Sid’s Heaven.

Claude hisses as Sid tugs at his opening – it’s sore and it’s tender. Sid presses a kiss to his forehead in apology then smooths a hand up his spine, muscles bunching under his touch. He rests it below his ear, thumb caressing Claude’s cheek as he seizes his mouth in a hungry kiss.

There was no space left between them. Sid could feel the beating of Claude’s heart against his chest. He could _hear_ it. It was the best sound in the world.

Claude ends their kiss and snakes his arms around Sid’s shoulders, strong and burly. Claude’s eyes shift to the side; they’re suddenly glazed with a layer of fresh tears. He digs the ridges of his nails into Sid’s skin. “I don’t wanna fuck with your head, Sid.”

Sid swallows; his heart sinks as he feels a raw pinch behind his own eyes. They burned.

He frames Claude’s face, pressing his mouth to the thin, white scar below his eye. It matched the one lining his throat. “You’re not.” Sid says, clinging to him. “I want you with me. Always.”

 _Always_ , even though it wasn’t possible.

______

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They sit atop the Ferris Wheel, bright lights twinkling beneath them. Faint music could be heard from beyond the tall gates, with the occasional happy scream suddenly piercing the air.

Sid’s fingers were still sticky from the cotton candy. A stuffed penguin was perched in his lap; it was fluffy with black button eyes. Claude had snatched it from one of the booths.

There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes now.  He bites the edge of a smile – he’s got a funny idea in his head. Sid can tell.

Claude slowly rocks in his seat, swinging their carriage.

“Stop it!” Sid shouts, heart pounding. “You’re gonna kill us.”

Claude’s lips perk before he snickers. He laces his fingers with Sid’s. “Sorry, sorry” he mumbles, still laughing. He ducks his head to kiss the pout off Sid’s mouth.

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sid’s terrified to ask. A part of him already knows – _always knew_. But it was building, like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of his stomach.

“ _You’re not really here, are you_ ” he says, voice rough as sandpaper. It’s not even a question.

Claude stares at him with liquid eyes.

 

 

“Please” Sid rasps into the silence.

 

 

“I love you” Claude says.

 

And – Sid _crumples_. The pain of it comes out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream.

His eyes flood with tears.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Twenty-five_

 

 

He breathes hard into the edge of Claude’s messy curls. His eyes fill. “I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

 

 

 

 

 

Then – _Sid lets him go._

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Thirty-Five_

 

 

 

Jacob’s tucked into his side, fast asleep. Pacifier still wedged between his tiny lips. Sid fiddles with his mom’s old radio; it was wooden around the outside with big, circular dials.

He wavers between the stations. There’s a bit of static, then –

 

_Yeah nothin’ could change what you mean to me_

_  
Oh there’s lots that I could say_

_  
But just hold me now_

_  
‘Cause our love will light the way_

He closes his eyes as the sound swims through his veins and swirls in his head.

 

He pictures a halo of _orange_ – burning bright against a cold, winter night.

 

 

_____

 

 

 

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Very cliche and half-baked and not a whole lot of prudence here.. but I had to write it. Inspired by Sense8 - just the 'world sharing' bit, anyways. :)
> 
> Title inspired by Hayden Calnin.


End file.
